Logs:The Storm Gathers
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| RL Date: 31 August, 2011 |
| Who: Chalmecath |
| Involves: Fort Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: One of those mysterious voices finds Chalmecath. |
| Where: Fort Area |
| When: Day 23, Month 8, Turn 26 (Interval 10) |
| There isn't a cloud in the warm summer sky but somewhere in the close wilderness there is the prickly energy of a thunder storm hanging in the air. A fragile crackle breaks through the cloudless sky, reaching out in search of a listening mind. (Unknown to Chalmecath) To Unknown, Chalmecath was not searching, but seems to have found -- he stirs in his mind as he flies, his wings rustling a fair bit more than they usually do. In response, he sends a wispy tendril of mental inquiry; the scent of stale blood and sharp metal. Chalmecath is here. « Who calls? » The storm gathers around that voice in writhing dark clouds, heavy with wonder that threatens to rain down. « Ah! I found one - fabulous! » The voice isn't much of an indication of the storm-voice's gender, sounding just as feminine as it does masculine. In jubilant exclaim, lightning flashes blindingly bright while thunder booms in punctuation. « How /are/ you? » The voice sounds genuinely interested, as if he/she were close and dear friends with the dragon on the other end of that blood and steel. « It is nearly time, is it not? » (Unknown to Chalmecath) « One, » Chalmecath echoes, steeled by the storm; he is wrapping himself up, mentally, secured from the rains inside a warm cave. His fire crackles, though it is welcoming to the Storm-bringer, whomever he or she may be. « One what? I -- am -- well, » he replies, with some clear hesitation. « And I am not sure for what. It is nearly time for many things. » If Chalmecath is anything, he is curious and thoughtful, and so whatever pause the stranger may bring him is not getting him to back off. (Chalmecath to Unknown) The storm goes thoughtfully silent before gently rumbling back to life. « One of you, » comes the cryptic answer, laced with all the emphasis of assumption - like Chalmecath should know what he is. The weyrling seems to start a few droplets of thought that trickle down to become a curious creek gurgling to life outside the protective, warm cave. « This is very true, » the voice wisely concedes. « It is nearly time for the days to grow shorter and for autumn to return, and for beasts to be brought together to breed so that the herds will be rich with new life in spring. » Why that would be on the foremost of a storm's mind... « But I was referring to you - new life of another kind - to join the others that came before you. This must be exciting! » As exciting as the bursts of electricity dancing irratically over that little bubbling brook. (Unknown to Chalmecath) To Unknown, Chalmecath is many things, indeed -- and proud of every one of them. He is attentive to the forming creek, sending his smoky tendrils to investigate, swirling above and around the source of the voice, whomever it may be. « Yes! Yes. All of those things. We will find our wing, our new clan. » Pride, now, tempers his mindvoice in addition to the curiosity that never faded. « The herds. Breeding will bring food. I think I am hungry. » The Storm-Bringer laughs gentle, rich thunder. « Yes, there will be food. We will not suffer as we did this Turn. It will be good for us all. » Whatever the stranger is going on about, the creek keeps its thoughts to itself, pouring down and away from Chalmecath's smoky tendrils as if its source was turned off. « Your new wing will be lucky to have you amongst them. I must go now. We are needed - for the greater good. » (Unknown to Chalmecath) « The greater good. » Chalmecath echoes this sentiment as his -- friend? -- the Storm-bringer departs. « I will learn about this good, and talk to you again! » he proclaims, once he has settled upon his answer; which takes just long enough that he has to rush to get it in before the voice fades entirely, but he does, at least, succeed at making his cutoff. « I thank you for your compliments. » His smoke twirls around in a circle, spins up and up and up and is faded out by the wind. (Chalmecath to Unknown) |
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